


Under Advisement

by pagerunner



Category: Borderlands
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/pseuds/pagerunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Jack takes it upon himself to give Rhys some romantic advice. Uh-oh. Rhys/Sasha implied, plus a fair bit of Jack yanking Rhys' chain, and Jack not actually being a total asshole, except when he is. Set during the road-trip montage of episode 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Advisement

The thing that was starting to get to Rhys about this road trip—besides the continual risk of getting killed by the Pandoran wildlife, roving bandits, or cranky traveling companions—was that it was hard to get any time alone.

It wasn’t that he minded the company, all things considered. Some of the company was, well, _bracing_ , but some of it was fine. Lovely. Desirable, even. But the caravan was crowded at best, and no one could spend that many days practically on top of each other without getting on each other’s nerves about _something._ Sometimes loudly. And dramatically. And half the group was armed.

That was why the first night they found a good place for overnight shelter—an abandoned cabin a safe distance off the road, with the promise of not just a roof but distinct _rooms,_ and thereby privacy—everyone was quick to leap at it.

After a thorough safety check of the place, Fiona and Sasha claimed the only beds. Rhys helped them prop Vaughn up in the most comfortable chair they could find, which still required a lot of awkward maneuvering. “At least he’s…compact?” Fiona commented, to which Vaughn let out a vaguely offended grunt. Athena just snorted at all of this and shook her head, leaving them to their nonsense while she headed outside to take watch.

And Rhys got one good look at Sasha bouncing gleefully onto her bed before he decided he better make his own exit post-haste.

Part of that was admittedly due to Fiona glaring knowingly at him, but, well. Discretion, valor, etc.

That left his only real choice as the caravan, again. Loader Bot and Gortys seemed content to stake out spots on its roof, where they…slept? Chatted in binary all night? Rhys had no idea, and decided not to ask. He simply ducked back inside the vehicle proper, where he looked around, sniffed, and said sardonically to the walls, “Just you and me, then, huh?”

There was no reply, obviously. Rhys cracked half a smile as he shut the door. It wasn’t exactly high-class accommodations, that was for sure. On the upside, he’d have a few hours to himself—and that did present some opportunities to make the best of it.

He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside, still thinking idly of Sasha flinging herself into that comfortable sprawl on the cabin’s battered mattress. She’d looked so _happy._ And the way she’d just kind of squirmed into the best position she could, shoulders and hips shifting, her shirt getting tugged tight in all sorts of interesting ways…

Rhys, feeling flushed, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and fell into as much of his own sprawl as he could manage, at least within the cramped boundaries of the narrow couch. 

What he was suddenly pondering was probably a _terrible_ idea. 

Granted, he really needed to take the edge off. It had been a while, after all, and his subconscious had been forcefully reminding him of that the last couple nights. That wasn’t making it any easier to deal with certain (attractive, distracting, _infuriating…_ ) people during the day, either. But if he could just get some of this out of his system…

The trouble, of course, was his probable audience, even here in this empty room.

 _If he notices,_ Rhys thought dourly, _you are never going to hear the end of it._

Rhys winced and raised his head to glance around, aware by now of what the usual heralds of Jack’s presence were. Static around the edges, noise in his head. Telltale flickers of blue. It was quiet in the room, though, except for the creaks of settling metal. No sign of anyone in here but him. So far.

_Maybe just…make it quick? Just in case?_

He made a face. That wasn’t the most satisfying approach, that was for sure, but at least it would be _something._ So he settled back as best he could and took a couple deep breaths, then mentally crossed his fingers, while the rest of his mind wandered off to more pleasant images and his actual fingers prepared to do something… _else._

Naturally, he’d only gotten as detaching his belt and rucking up his shirt enough to expose skin when a flicker of blue crossed his ECHO display, coalescing in the corner of his eye.

“He _llo_ , Rhysie,” an all-too-familiar voice said. “How’s my favorite meat puppet doing this evening?”

Rhys stifled a groan and got his hands as far away from his waist as possible, lest Jack turn that second, horrible nickname into an even worse pun.

“Oh my God, Jack,” he said, covering his eyes and lying through his teeth. “I was just about to try to sleep.”

“Sleep. Riiight.” Jack drawled that out just too long for comfort. Rhys squirmed. “Well then, since that’s not happening, how ‘bout you and I kick back and have a chat? It’s been too long, pumpkin. Lots to catch up on.”

Rhys pulled his hands far down enough to peek. Sure enough, Jack’s hologram had settled into a chair, folded his hands behind his head, and pretended to prop his feet up on the table. His shoes were clipping right through Fiona’s favorite coffee mug. Jack didn’t seem to care.

“Your timing,” Rhys said with all honesty, “is terrible.”

“Aw, and here you’d said ‘just you and me.’ I thought it was a _perfect_ time.”

Rhys wasn’t sure how to reply to that one. Jack kept on talking before he could decide.

“I mean, you know, it’s been hard getting you alone lately. Not that it hasn’t been _fun_ watching this whole merry band of yours have your road trip adventure together…” Jack’s voice was distinctly sardonic. Rhys slowly sat up, resigned to being part of the conversation whether he wanted to be or not. “It’s been very cute. Very buddy movie. Although just so you know, on this planet, most of those sorts of stories end with half the party getting eaten by skags. Congratulations on avoiding that so far, by the way.”

“Um, Jack, did this have a point—?”

“And damn, who would have thought Athena still played Bunkers and Badasses?” Jack was grinning widely now. “I’d almost forgotten how epic her ragequits could be.”

Rhys, distracted despite himself, raised his eyebrows. “Wait. When did _you_ play B &B with _Athena_?”

“Ah, it was back when I’d hired her. Had some unexpected downtime between rounds of bandit slaughtering. And she wasn’t ever the type to fool around with guys, her loss, so—had to come up with something.”

Rhys was still trying to get his head around the mental image of Athena and Jack over a gaming table when Jack sat forward and said, suspiciously idly, “And how about you and _your_ personal downtime, cupcake?”

“My time? I, uh…” Rhys tried valiantly to steer away from the obvious. “I did say I was about to go to sleep, right?”

“Sure, princess. See, the thing you’re forgetting is that I’m still in your head when you actually do sleep. And it’s not like I can see _everything_ in there, but when you’re having interesting dreams you do tend to get a little…verbal. Last couple nights? Those have been educational. No wonder you’re still acting all hot and bothered.”

Rhys, mortified, tried to sink back down into the cushions and disappear. Considering the dreams in question, he hadn’t intended for anyone else to overhear them, least of all Jack. But as usual, his uninvited AI companion was being entirely too perceptive about everything—barring Rhys’ discomfort. Or else he just didn’t care about that part, which was distressingly likely.

“It’s not like I don’t understand, Rhysie,” Jack said. “If I were you, I’d be feeling the need to release some tension right about now, too. I mean, I’ve been riding shotgun with you for a while now and I’m surprised it’s taken this long to catch you with your—“

Rhys groaned before Jack could finish the sentence. “Can we _not?”_

“Oh, hey, I get it. It’s conspicuous and all with me right here, at least if modesty’s your thing—which, really, consider broadening your horizons, kiddo—but in your shoes I’d at least be sublimating the crap out of it. Shooting bandits. Strangling underlings. _Something.”_

“Or,” Rhys said with exaggerated patience, “sleeping it off.”

“Boring. Also not what you were actually about to do, Mr. Hand-Practically-Down-His-Pants.”

Rhys glared at him, watching Jack’s projection flicker as if in a silent chuckle. 

“But yeah, this makes quite the image.” Jack teasingly framed Rhys with his fingers. “Look at you, all worked up over little sis. I mean…not _your_ little sis. That would be weird. Crap, I need a better nickname for her.”

“You _could_ just call her Sasha.”

“Again, boring. Come to think of it, though…was she the _only_ person you were having suspiciously naughty dreams about? ‘Cause I swear I heard another name or two last night. Cameos, maybe?”

“Jack, we’re really not talking about this.”

“Starring roles?”

“ _Jack.”_

“Was that an answer?”

“Oh, my God, just _stop.”_

He’d crossed just far enough into genuine anger that Jack arched an eyebrow. “And here I was going to be all generous and give you some friendly advice,” he said. His voice was so steady and even that it suggested a certain…effort. “What a wasted opportunity.”

Rhys made a face, again unsure _how_ to react. He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Ah, fuck. I…” 

“Ah, ah, ah. Language.”

The sudden admonishment actually startled him. He looked up at Jack’s smile, which began as an unpleasantly angled thing, then lifted into genuine amusement. “That said, fucking pretty much _is_ the topic of the day, so, all right: appropriate. Rule number one, Rhysie: save it for when you mean it.”

His voice went dry. “You mean the swearing or the fucking?”

“‘Or’ is an interesting word to choose.”

Rhys let out a sudden, sharp laugh. “Point taken.”

“There. See? You could learn a few things from me, cupcake.” Jack flickered out, then reappeared on his feet, beginning a purposeful pace back and forth before the couch. “Not to suggest that you don’t know what you’re doing, of course. I’m sure you do, attractive guy like you—“

He let those last four words linger long enough that Rhys was certain Jack was deliberately messing with him.

“—but you’ve got a problem still with _nerves,_ you know what I’m saying? You stutter and back away and you don’t grab what’s right there in front of you when you should. Here we’re just _talking_ and you’re all skittish. Don’t need to be.”

Rhys glanced aside. It probably proved Jack’s point, but it was difficult not to. “I guess.”

“You guess? I’m Handsome goddamn Jack—I know what I’m talking about. And seriously, since anything you decide to get up to, I’m gonna have to see, it’s in both of our own best interests to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself. So help me out here, kid.” He stopped pacing and turned a mischievous grin at Rhys. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Rhys took that in, then laughed again, much more ruefully. “Honestly, the way this conversation’s going, I’m beginning to think keeping it in my pants for the rest of… _ever_ …might be the safer alternative.”

“Oh, babe. I’ve seen your dick. I can tell you honestly, that would be a waste.”

Rhys reddened to the very tips of his ears. Jack, being Jack, just stood there laughing while Rhys stumbled all over his reply.

“I—what the _hell,_ Jack, you were looking? Wh—seriously, _why were you looking?_ “

“Ah, come on, Rhysie. What kind of man hasn’t done a little compare and contrast every now and then? Measuring each other up? Maybe even a little A/B testing?”

Rhys stared, incredulous. “I cannot believe you’re using software development metaphors right now.”

“Software. Hardware. Got loads of gun jokes, too. Seriously, I could do this all night. But remember, no weapon’s gonna do you any good if you just leave it holstered—“

“I think I’m going to lie down and die quietly now, thanks.”

“—and yours is a beaut. Nice proportions, good form. Could use a little more heft to it, but hey, whose couldn’t?” He chuckled. “‘Cept for mine. Mine’s great.”

Rhys, having given up on words by this point, raised his hands in surrender. Mercifully, Jack did move on.

“All right, then. Basics established. Hot cyborg guy meets hot bandit chick, and you’re feeling the sparks fly. But your first move is…this.” He gestured to Rhys on the couch. “I think you see the problem.”

“I think I am looking at the problem, yes,” Rhys muttered, eyeing Jack.

“Ah, Rhysie. Humor me. If you weren’t worried about little ol’ me sitting on your shoulder…what would you want from her, exactly?”

Something about the question made Rhys wince. The phrasing sounded so…possessive. He supposed it was, indeed, a very _Jack_ sort of way to put it. 

“I don’t want anything _from_ her, not like that,” Rhys said defensively. “I just want to be _with_ her.”

“Yes, yes, very romantic.” He flapped a dismissive hand. Digital crackles trailed from his fingertips. “But are you really just planning on acting all… _twitterpated_ forever? Seriously? Because there are more interesting things you could be doing.”

“No offense,” Rhys said, aware even as he was saying it that of course Jack would take offense, “but I don’t know if your definition of ‘interesting’ and mine are quite the same.”

“And you’re only gonna know if we go sharesies.”

He waggled his eyebrows. Rhys laughed nervously, not sure where to start, or how much he’d need to clean out his brain with bleach afterward. Jack’s prompt didn’t help matters, either.

“How about we start with your assumptions about my brand of interesting, Rhys?” Jack said evenly. “Because I suspect we have some things to clear up.”

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly _really_ afraid of what he was walking into. “Um. Crap. Well, I never really paid a whole lot of attention to the stories about your—girlfriends. It just seemed rude.” Jack snorted, as if he’d said something quaint. Also as if he knew Rhys was lying. Which was probable. “But you know Helios—everyone talks.”

“Oh, I know,” Jack said, sounding suspiciously smug. “I got plenty of people talking myself.”

“You _wanted_ people to—? Agh, you’re Handsome Jack, of course you did.” Rhys laughed sardonically at himself. “Okay, so. Fine, I did listen. Some of those stories? Pretty graphic. And I mean, the girls sound amazing—“

“Oh, were they ever.” Jack grinned. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, shoulders back, chin lifted. “And I was _killer.”_

“I’m, uh, sure that’s true, but—I’m just saying, some of that’s not Sasha’s style.”

“You know that for sure? Because I know you haven’t asked her.”

Rhys startled slightly. “No, but…”

Jack looked down his nose at Rhys, eyebrows quirked. And he said what was, somehow, not at all what Rhys was predicting.

“That’s the thing of it, Rhysie: whatever you’ve got in mind, or whatever you’re guessing, you gotta talk that out. You don’t _wait,_ you don’t spring expectations on each other.” He grinned suddenly. “I mean, hey. If it turns out she’s into strap-ons, you’re gonna want to have some lube handy, know what I’m saying?”

Rhys, not at all prepared for that imagery, felt a strange mix of embarrassment and heat flood through him. Jack watched him, grinning fiercely for an instant, and then began to pace again.

“And listen, kid, I know what you’re probably thinking,” Jack went on. “You know my reputation. I make a point of getting what I want, and I’m not exactly fond of the word ’no.’ But there’s business, and there’s pleasure. That’s a two-way thing. Or three-way. Or whatever. You get what I’m aiming at. I still have _rules,_ don’t get me wrong—don’t disrespect me, don’t betray me, don’t stab me in the back…”

He made a sudden, complex grimace.

“Got one ex I _should’ve_ killed for that, honestly,” Jack muttered. “But Nisha talked me out of it. Which doesn’t happen either, let’s be clear, unless you’re a sexy cowgirl with a whip… but she said I was getting distracted. Probably right.” He rubbed one hand over his face, an old, reflexive gesture that couldn’t have done much for him in holographic form. It still seemed like something beneath the mask was bothering him. “But I’ve got a point. The _point_ is that there’s a difference between screwing over someone for fun and screwing someone for fun. The second one kinda requires that they’re into it.”

“I know that,” Rhys said, a little defensive. “Of _course_ I do.”

“Right, then. So that’s why you ask.” Jack’s voice went quiet. “And it’s why you don’t assume.”

Rhys cleared his throat. That statement had been a little too loaded for comfort. “You’re guessing, too,” Rhys said. “I wasn’t assuming anything bad about you, either.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Then, conversely, his smile spread wider. “Fine, then. Good to know. ‘Sides—you could _never_ imagine some of what I got up to even if you tried.”

“Yeah, and about that? I’m _not_ asking.”

Jack chuckled. He suddenly stood up and sauntered a few steps away from the couch, casual as could be. “All right, kid. Listen—I think that’s enough wisdom imparted for one night. You just…ruminate over all that for a while, why don’t’cha? We can talk about you again after. But figure yourself out first. I’ll give you some space.”

Rhys quirked an eyebrow. “You’re using ‘ruminate’ as a terrible metaphor here, aren’t you?”

“You said it, not me.” Jack winked at him. “But since I’m pretty sure I was already putting ideas in your, er, _head_ earlier, I guess that’s no surprise. And yeah, ‘head’ was a metaphor.”

“For God’s sake, Jack,” Rhys said, shutting his eyes. “Just get out already.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah. Keep on taking charge like _that,_ bad boy, and you’ll do _fine._ ” He paused, and his voice went just a little edged. “Or, y’know, maybe you’ll get yourself shot. But hey—that’s what keeps it _interesting.”_

Rhys’ eyes flashed back open again just in time to see Jack aiming a teasing finger gun dead between his eyes. And then he flickered out of sight.

Rhys had no reason to believe he was actually gone.

In the space he left behind, though, Rhys looked down at himself, at his undone slacks and his nervously drumming fingers, and he groaned. So much for that idea. When he turned to lie back down on the couch again, he did so on his side, and he pressed his face into the cushion.

Sleep was probably going to be the best plan after all. So long as he could get that image of Sasha completely having her way with him out of his head.

“Damn it, Jack,” he muttered, wondering exactly whose benefit that scenario had been for—and how _educational_ his dreams tonight would prove to be for them both.

And somewhere in the back of his head—because even there, in that most private of spaces, he couldn’t really be alone anymore—he swore he could still hear Jack laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> A/B testing: basically, testing two different versions of a thing to see which one performs better. And no, I can't believe I made that joke, either.


End file.
